


Rust and Rain

by ArdenInTheGarden



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Becile Grunt OC, Becile bot oc, Becile fanbot, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fan Characters, Fanfiction, Gen, Original Character(s), War, fanbots, steam powered giraffe fanbots, weekend war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-05-19 08:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19353679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArdenInTheGarden/pseuds/ArdenInTheGarden
Summary: The origin story of one Miss Coil D. Becile, the scrapped pet project of a mad inventor and a piece of machinery intended for war. The story details her life, as recounted by Coil herself. It has been meticulously transcribed based on her own descriptions, and the author takes no credit for its creation.Coil and Circuit are fanbots for Steam Powered Giraffe, and Grace is a fan character for Becile Industries.All origin material of the Walters, Beciles, green and blue matter, the Weekend War, the main Steam Powered Giraffe robots, and other source material is owned by and credited to the performers.https://steampoweredgiraffe.com/





	1. Chapter 1

        The ground shook beneath her feet as Coil sprinted for cover. The elephants stomped by, and the sky was grey with the smoke from artillery. The war had been raging on for two days, now into the third, and there was no sign of it stopping soon. The elephants were going down, one by one, and Walters bots showed no sign of relenting, but she could only cling onto the hope that it would end soon and she would have the chance to see the end of this.  
        She knew enough humans--or at least those that used to be considered as much--had been destroyed in this. What was the point? Did she really want the energy for her core if it meant all of this?  
        She looked across the field to the most recent creation to fall--this time it appeared to be one of the Walter bots. Now was her chance to go take it out. She tightened her grip on the welding torch that had separated from its place on her arm--the old man hadn’t been too diligent in making sure the work that had been done on her was anything other than shoddy.  
        The bot that was crumpled on the ground in the wake of the elephants was barely functional, voice box broken, one eye missing and leaking oil. It creaked and sputtered and looked up with such a sense of sadness and loss that she found herself unable to do anything to harm it. She feigned an attack before dragging it off the field and into the brush she had been hiding in previously.

        Coil didn’t know how many hours they remained crouched there, when all of a sudden the air became silent. The calm before the storm. Or so she thought. Did she dare to leave the relative safety of this foliage, or did she want to wait for what might happen?  
        The choice was made for her as the canopy was yanked away from their huddled forms. Over the pair of damaged robots stood the gaunt face of a man she didn’t recognize, but could only assume was the one known as Colonel Walter. He had won the war, that much she was certain, but he still looked like a man who had lost more than he knew how to admit. Miss Morreo was gone, and wasn’t that the real reason they were fighting?  
        “You’re unstable.” He spoke quietly, a tired sadness clinging to his words. “Thaddeus must disable you while he still has the chance. But I wash my hands of my nemesis. I have defeated him, and I will be taking my automatons back with me. Your efforts were valiant, and I am in no mood to deactivate you myself. But I warn you not to grow near to other living creatures. You will be both their and your own downfall.” He bent down, hoisting the busted automaton to its feet. “Come, Circuit. The lab awaits.”  
        They disappeared into the distance, leaving Coil behind in the dirt. She didn’t want to get up yet. They had lost, and she was going to be deactivated--unless she could hide. Maybe if she talked to the old man he could convince the workers not to dismantle her? Maybe, _just maybe_ she could find a way to escape the cruel fate of knowing only war?

        “Get up.” A voice behind her growled, words laced with poison. Thaddeus. “You’ve FAILED me! The elephants are destroyed, and you… _you_ had the audacity to serve their side?”  
        “What’re you gonna do, deactivate me?” She asked weakly, struggling as smoke belched from the furnace in her chest.  
        “That’s what they want, yes. But you don’t deserve that. _I_ don’t deserve that. You’re the closest thing I have to a masterpiece, and despite your flaws, you will be fixed, and you will be perfect, and I will present you to my Delilah one way or another.” He shoved her over with his shoe, grimacing as he whistled and signaled for his employees to come over and take her away. “Take her to the basement, and never speak of her. My legacy will survive yet.”  
        The Grunts lifted her up, escorting her back towards the hidden lab to become another fixture of failure. She was a sign of their sure destruction, and there was little she could do to stop their whims. She was created for war, yes, but what chance did a broken machine have against an army of humans with more experience, tools, and _brutality?_  
        There was hushed murmurs among them as they carted her away of not getting too close. They had all seen the elephants, no one needed a reminder, but they still couldn’t help the frightened talk of what had been witnessed. Surely that wouldn’t happen to them simply from touching her? Carrying her away couldn’t possibly cause this so soon? There were gloved hands hesitantly on her, the lightest grasp they could manage while still maneuvering her down into the basement.  
        Coil hit the cement floor with a loud _THUD_ , her unfinished, skeletal frame curled up on the ground. They hadn’t bothered outfitting her with a shell of any kind--there was no need for a war machine to look pretty, after all. She rolled onto her back to look at the nervous faces that stood above her.  
        The welding torch had been confiscated, of course, but they knew she was still a machine that could break bones with ease. She knew better than to attack, but caged animals were more likely to lash out than to stay cornered. It was as if they were locked in a stalemate, each side preparing for the action of the other to counter them.  
        Thaddeus was the one that broke the tension, albeit by replacing it with another kind. “You’re going to remain down here until you’re perfect. I’m going to get my revenge on Peter, that much is certain. But when? _When?_ I’m going to make him realize his mistake of ostracizing me! The entire Cavalcadium is going to see the error in casting me out! I will PROVE to them that _I_ am the superior scientist! They will grovel at my feet for my forgiveness and _I won’t give it to them!”_ He seemed to realize he was talking to himself more than the others and straightened his coat with a growl.  
        “Nevermind that.” He turned sharply away, shoving several people aside as he stalked towards the stairs. “Come with me. Leave it down here, we’ll deal with this piece of wreckage later.”


	2. Chapter 2

        It was hard at first. Being the only thing in that room aside from a wall clock and debris was hard, especially when she thought about the fact that all that stood between her and an unknown world was a heavy steel door. If she could just get through the door...she could be free.  
        But she didn’t dare do it. She knew better than that, after all. So she spent her days, weeks, months familiarizing herself with every inch of the room she was stuck inside.  
        There were a few boxes with spare parts of things that had no place in her inner workings, and the clock that hung on the wall, and her; the three fixtures of the basement.  
        Coil had spent days on end rearranging the spare parts into various little sculptures, before eventually giving up on the lot of them. All she could do was wait and look forward to the routine maintenance she received every year or two. They would come into the room in masks and prod at her with tools from afar, make sure she was still “alive”, and then leave again.  
        The biggest highlight of the first thirty years was when someone attached a shell to her, allowing her to look more humanoid and shield her parts from dust and her picking at them as she sat. “Precautionary measures, not a reward” she had been told. She considered it a reward for her time served in the abysmal space. It was ugly and rusted already, but it was hers, and that’s what mattered.  
        Of course no one knew yet that she was a her. There was no point in telling people who didn’t care that she wasn’t the male they had designated her as--it was easier to just be the “it” coldly spoken about by people with better things to be doing with their lives.  
        She might tell someone eventually, but not until she found someone who felt worthy of getting to know her. Someone who was willing to look at her as anything other than a piece of machinery, or at least better than a piece of garbage.  
        She wasn’t keen on waiting for them, but it seemed waiting was all she knew how to do anymore.

        Another twenty years passed--or was it twenty-five?--it was hard to tell. The visits from the Grunts became less frequent, and they hardly even spoke to her at this point. She hadn’t known the old man had died, but perhaps they hadn’t wanted her to. She celebrated with a walk around the room and tearing off a piece of her plating, much to the chagrin of those in charge of ensuring she didn’t ruin anything. Let them be angry. Perhaps they could feel a portion of the rage that burned within her as she rusted beneath their feet.  
        She heard word of a great success during one of the visits--an impromptu “inspection” as they took measurements and compared blueprints and prepared for some kind of work she hadn’t received before. They _never_ took this much care in looking her over.  
        Some kind of power being stolen. A “rabbit” spoken of in hushed but excited tones. The opportunity they’d been waiting for, they all said. “Nothing to it, really”. A bit of reverse engineering and they would be top dogs in the industry once again. She waited with bated breath for them to return and finally haul her up into daylight again.  
        But they didn’t.  
        She was visited by a Grunt with grief written into the lines of his face. Tragedy. The hushed murmurs were no longer joyous. Something had happened to Norman and Ignatius, and she was never going to be free again. If they had just won the war, they could have avoided this. If only it had been _them_ that had discovered the Blue Matter…  
        Coil had stopped listening to them a long time ago. The what-ifs, and the if-onlys, and the “routine maintenance” speeches were all the same, and had been for nearly fifty years. She had seen countless changes of the guard as far as which of the Becile Grunts were in charge of looking after her, and new groups of them always seemed to be appearing in and out of the basement.  
        It was all part of the life she had given herself with her choices, and she couldn’t stop them. She didn’t blame them, either. She wouldn’t want to get close to the abomination that threatened lives, or worse merely threatened their corporeal forms.  
        For now, it seemed she would just have to wait.


	3. Chapter 3

        Voices were audible outside the door once again, and it groaned like the souls of the damned as it was slowly shoved open. “If we came more often it would be easier to open, you know.”  
        Coil perked up slightly upon seeing who entered. A young woman in the standard company uniform--the black dress and stockings, the high-heeled shoes, the grey labcoat--all the things everyone was required to wear to give them an air of authenticity. Not that they had anyone to impress. Most employees opted to forego the outfit entirely, wearing whatever they had bothered coming to work in.  
        “Good morning.” She looked over her clipboard, flipping between pages and tucking a pen behind her ear. “Well, I suppose it’s afternoon by this point. Sorry we’re a bit late getting here today. We’ll be your new team of maintenance workers. Marshall is the tall one, Eddie is the shorter one, and I’m Grace.” She gestured to the men that flanked her, both armed with blowtorches. The muscle to protect the brains, she supposed. “Let’s get started, shall we? Are you still able to stand?”  
        Cold hands reached down, easing the automaton to her feet with a smile. “Marshall, Eddie, take your leave now.” Grace gave them a look with sharp eyes, and the men seemed more than eager to leave the room.  
        “Now then, for my records I’m going to ask you a few questions, okay?” She didn’t wait for a response, taking a seat on top of one of the crates that occupied the floorspace. “What year were you built in?”  
        “1896.” Coil’s voice was rough from disuse as she struggled to maintain the conversation at a volume that could be heard. It had been years since she had spoken any more than a grunt of acknowledgment to the Grunts that came to look, and none of them ever took any form of records. This new lady was an anomaly.  
        “And your core colour?” She looked up from the paper, pushing her coat sleeves up to her elbows.  
        “...green.” She hesitated, scooting back from the woman to give her some space.  
        “Where are you going?” The Grunt crossed one leg over the other, resting her chin in her palm and setting the clipboard onto the floor. “There’s not much wall left until you hit a corner, after all.”  
        Sure enough, Coil hit the wall and was surprised by this. “What of it?”  
        “Just curious is all. Tell me about yourself, I have some papers to fill out but it would be boring to do them in silence. If I’m in charge of watching you, I’d like to know you.” The skirt of her dress flared around her knees as she smoothed it out with a calm smile. She seemed serene, but there was a fire inside her eyes, and a wildness that could not be tamed but of her own will and choosing.  
        The automaton stared blankly for a moment, rubbing a hand over the exposed wiring and mechanical pieces of her arm. “My name’s Coil. I fought in the war. We lost. I’ve lived in this basement for fifty years. There’s not much left to tell which hasn’t already been stated.”  
        “Mm, I doubt that. No one can be summed up _that _quickly, my dear.” She tucked a bit of hair back behind her ear as those analytical eyes soaked in every detail of the bot in front of her.__  
        “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not a sideshow, you know. I’m a wreck, but I’m NOT here for you to gawk at, you got that?” She took a menacing step forward, raising one hand and clenching it into a fist.  
        Grace offered her a calm smile in response. “No matter. I suppose you might need a bit of time to warm up to someone new. Perhaps you’ll be a bit more chatty the next time we speak, hm?”  
        “I wouldn’t get my hopes up.” She spat after the woman, having backed up against the wall again. She didn’t need this lady calling for the security on her and getting something else taken away from her.  
        The Grunt walked to the heavy door and knocked on it. “I do hope you reconsider talking with me, Coil.” The echoing of the door slamming behind her hung in the air.  
        Coil shivered, the interaction sending sparks throughout her system that she couldn’t help but shake from. This lady spooked her for reasons she didn’t understand. Better safe than sorry.


End file.
